Chapter 1-Leila
Calm down, Leila…
Nervously tapping my foot, I keep repeating the same words over and over in my head. I have never been this anxious or nervous in my entire life. I can’t believe that I am here, sitting in a recording studio and waiting to audition for a real live rock band. Devil’s Lair, a band I love and have been following for years!
Every child is asked the rhetorical question, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” Since I was a little girl, I’ve wanted nothing more than to be a rock singer.
Most answer and change their minds hundreds of times before they become adults. Not me. My answer has always been the same…singing rock and roll. That’s always been my dream, mission, and goal. Two key factors played a huge role in my career choice. First off, I can sing. Secondly, I grew up in a household that loved to listen to classic rock. I think I knew the words to Born to Run before I knew The Itsy, Bitsy Spider. Singing rock makes up as much of my DNA as being Italian does.
So needless to say, this audition is huge for me. It seems so surreal that I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around it. I want this so badly that I’m not sure how I’ll survive the disappointment if I don’t get this job. The optimist in me tries to reason with the pessimist. Obviously getting this job would be my first choice. But if I don’t get the job, this is a great experience for me that can easily open other doors and opportunities. I believe in fate and I believe things happen for a reason. There’s a reason that I’m here.
It was a lucky tip that got me here. It’s very hard to get your foot in the door. I don’t have a rich famous record producer as an uncle. American Idol isn’t my thing. Hoboken, New Jersey isn’t exactly the birthplace of rock singers either. I constantly scour the papers for opportunities to get my voice heard. I’ve entered competitions and won many of them. Besides what I’ve been doing, I’m at a loss for other ways to put my dreams into motion. These last few years have come up empty and I’ve been increasingly getting more frustrated.
Last weekend, I was singing at our regular gig at a bar called The Zone in Hoboken. I sing with four guys I’ve known for most of my life. During our break, a petite girl with long blonde hair and big blue eyes strolled over to me and held her hand out.
“Hi, I’m Patti.” The way she measured me up immediately put me on the defensive. I was a pro at declining propositions from men, but getting hit on by a woman would be a first for me.
Cautiously I introduced myself while I shook her hand. “Leila.”
She smirked and answered, “Of course you are…that’s just perfect.”
Thinking…what the hell does that mean? I smiled politely, while I slowly extracted my hand from her grip. The wacko alarm was ringing loud and clear in my head.
“Excuse me…I have to use the lady’s room.”
She grabbed my wrist and said, “I’m dating Scott Malone. He’s the guitar player in the band Devil’s Lair. Do you know them?”
The mention of Devil’s Lair snapped my focus from her hand up to her pretty face and captured my attention.
“Yes, I saw them perform in the city last year. They are fantastic.” I chose not to divulge how obsessed I actually was with this band, especially with the lead singer.
“Well, they’re looking for a female back-up singer. I’m here with friends tonight, and I saw your show. I think you’d be perfect. In fact, they are holding auditions next week. Would you be interested?”
OH MY GOD!
I was trying very hard not to bend over and start hyperventilating in front of this total stranger. I secretly said a silent prayer thanking the bar gods for sending Patti to The Zone this night. Maybe a guardian angel was responsible…or perhaps it was fate? Either way, a higher power was involved.
Patti gave me her phone number and asked for me to call her on Monday. And so here I am three days later and about to audition as back-up singer for Devil’s Lair.
Hopefully it will open some doors for me and give me the kick in the ass I need to make my dreams come true.
My dad wishes that my dreams weren’t so ambitious. He feels that as long as I’m choosing singing as my profession, my voice is perfect for Broadway and so he’s constantly trying to push me in that direction. Dad tries hard to be supportive. Being his only daughter, he is naturally over protective. Inexcusably, he still uses every opportunity he has to sway me. To quote him verbatim, “Living a quiet life in New Jersey, while commuting to Manhattan to star in a successful Broadway show would be a very honorable way to make a living, Leila.”
Ugh!
A tiny, tiny part of me can’t blame him for trying. Having done the school glee club thing, the church choir thing, and having really good range, my voice can easily acclimate to any musical genre…whether it’s rock and roll or Broadway.
Dad finally conceded that he lost the battle. All things considered, he is taking it fairly well. Other than my decision to skip college and my career choice, I’ve rarely disappointed him. Dad wanted me to go to college to get a degree and have a back-up plan. I simply couldn’t justify having him spend all his money on exorbitant college bills. I wouldn’t have learned anything that I didn’t already know. I know I can sing, and I don’t want or need a back-up plan. Cocky as that may sound, I’m good at what I do. Whether it’s as a famous rock singer or its continuing on the path I’m on now as a back-up singer in a bar band, it’s what I want to do.
P.S. – for the record, the famous rock singer would be my preferred choice.
Unsurprisingly, Dad wasn’t very happy hearing about Patti’s fateful visit to The Zone. I dropped it on him during our weekly Sunday brunch. I know he loves me, and that he’s happy for me, but his eyes couldn’t conceal his trepidation. I’m a master at interpreting my dad’s looks. After spending way too much time explaining whom Devil’s Lair was, I decided to show him a video clip that I took of them a few years earlier, and a few songs I have on my iTunes account. He reluctantly admitted that they had talent.
Coincidentally, my friend Evan and I saw Devil’s Lair perform in a dive bar in lower Manhattan. We were as far back from the stage as you could get and it was dark. Even from a distance, the lead singer Jack Lair looked edible. Looks aside, his voice had me swooning. His voice oozed sensuality. At the time, if you would have told me that I’d one day be auditioning for them, I would have said, “Shut the eff up.”
I’ve seen a lot of bands perform, but none have impressed me as Devil’s Lair had that night. I became a touch obsessed at the time. It wasn’t the kind of obsession that had me searching where he lived or stalking him. It was the kind where all I wanted was to listen to his voice while imagining all sorts of other stuff. What can I say? My sex life had been somewhat stagnant.
Jack finally strolls into the lobby and walks over to where I’m sitting.
Holy hell…he is gorgeous!
I am really nervous, and my nerves are already wreaking havoc on my insides. Unfortunately, as I stand here and stare at this breathtaking specimen, I can now also throw my raging libido into the fray. The combination has my stomach roiling and my lady parts throbbing…definitely not a good mix.
Seeing him on stage was nothing compared to seeing his beauty a few feet away. In the flesh, he is simply stunning.
“Are you Leila?”
“Um, yes... I’m Leila.” My response sounds completely winded.
Sweet Jesus… he is so pretty.
I’ve never been hypnotized before, but I’m guessing this is as close as it gets. I literally fall into a trance, staring at Jack while he pins me with his penetrating gaze. A few seconds later (or maybe even minutes?), my stupefied state causes him to call my name for the second time.
“Sorry…yes, I’m Leila. Um…my dad loves Eric Clapton, but mine is spelled differently, my mom didn’t like Clapton’s spelling...” I pause uncomfortably. “Um…sorry. Yes, I am here for the audition.”
Oh crap! Shut up Leila! A stinging blush rises from my toes and creeps up my entire body.
Smirking he says, “So do I.”
“Excuse me?”
“Love Clapton.”
“Um…oh.”
Um…oh? Really?
I sound like a complete moron.
He’s got me all flustered. Using the word handsome to describe Jack Lair seems inadequate. Dark brown hair that is shorter on the sides, and is floppy, sexy, and screams touch me on top. I have to hold my hands behind my back to avoid the impulse of doing just that. His eyes are just WOW. They are a smoky grey and completely mesmerizing. The light stubble on his face subtly defines the cleft in his chin, which is square and masculine. He’s absolutely gorgeous.
I continue to devour him with my eyes and commence a mini sex dream that plays in Technicolor glory in my mind.
His body is long and muscular. I’m guessing he’s six-two or three? His long legs seem to go on forever in his dark denim jeans. Levi’s…God, I love Levi’s on a man.
Bulging biceps are straining the sleeves of his t-shirt, which is charcoal grey and a shade darker than his eyes. It also happens to be tight enough to show a spectacular upper torso. There is a tattoo that is barely visible under his left sleeve and I’m dying of curiosity to know what it is.
Jack smiles kindly and asks, “You ready to get started?” Not trusting my voice to respond in a calm and normal manner, I simply nod.
Somehow remembering how to walk, I follow Jack out of the lobby and down a long hallway with posters of famous bands covering the walls. The band I am auditioning for today is on the precipice of fame. They just signed on for a three album record contract. They have a tour starting this fall in North America only. The shows are at small to medium sized venues. With Jack as their lead singer and the way they sound, they are going to be huge. It’s definitely a great time for me to get on their bandwagon, so to speak? That’s if I get this job. Which I now sincerely doubt since I just basically eye-fucked the lead singer in the lobby.
At the end of the hall is a small recording studio where three guys are patiently waiting for our arrival. Behind the drum set is a really cute guy with spiky light brown hair. His one ear is heavily pierced. He has a lip piercing and he has a really nice smile, too. I think his name is Hunter.
To the front, left side of Hunter is a tall, very rocker looking dude. He has lots of tattoos and is dressed entirely in black, even sporting black sunglasses, black hair pulled back into a short ponytail, and a black bass guitar. I don’t remember his name, and maybe that’s because when I saw them perform, he scared the hell out of me? I doubt this is Patti’s boyfriend. They are the yin and yang to each other in looks.
To the right is a guy of average height who looks more suited to be Patti’s boyfriend? Clean cut, strawberry blond hair, nice smile, and he is holding a guitar. It’s probably Scott. It’s funny though, he does not look the rocker type at all.
Jack strolls right over to a microphone that is facing a plate glass window that separates us from the control booth. A few guys are sitting at a huge panel with all sorts of buttons and lights. Unfortunately they all look bored and it makes me nervous. I have no idea what number I am in the revolving door of auditions and I hope they haven’t been doing this for days.
Standing behind them is a stunning blonde who is assessing me coolly with piercing blue eyes. She looks like a runway model in a black fitted suit without a blouse underneath. The way her arms are folded effectively displays her impressive cleavage.
Noticing another microphone positioned next to Jack, I can only assume it’s meant for me. Panic stricken, I stand frozen. My feet won’t cooperate and they feel like they’re cemented to the floor.
“Leila, do you think you can actually stand in front of the mic so we can hear your audition?” Someone provokes Jack to laugh by chuckling, which then causes my face to turn tomato red.
Turning back to me he says, “Leila, none of our songs have back-up vocals, so we’ll try something else. Do you know Come Undone, by My Darkest Days?”
Thankfully, I know this one. “Yes, I know it.”
Jack signals Hunter, who hits his sticks together twice. This prompts Scott to start playing his guitar. The song begins with a short guitar intro, and then Hunter and the bass guitarist join in when Jack begins to sing. Goosebumps appear all over my body from hearing these fantastic musicians playing a few feet away. I’m captivated as I watch Jack’s reflection in the glass. He has both hands on the mic, and his eyes are closed. He looks like he is making love to the music.
During the chorus, the female vocalist sings a solo and I smoothly pick up at my mark. Jack intently watches me in the reflection of the glass as I’m singing. It’s a bit unnerving, and I keep looking away…but he never does. I can feel his eyes on me the entire time.
The song ends with Jack and I singing vocals together as the music fades. Turning towards me, a grin slowly spreads across his face revealing his…DIMPLES?
Of course he has dimples! Are you freaking kidding me?
My crotch clenches instantly!
How can a smile make my crotch clench?
Moreover, how have I not noticed his dimples before?
There is no way I wouldn’t remember them because dimples are a complete turn on for me.
“That was good Leila, really good.” He continues to stare into my eyes while smiling. Everything north of my belly buttons goes numb and everything south bursts into flames.
I vaguely remember Jack complimenting me, and I manage to mumble a pathetic “Thank you.” Every eye is focused on me and I feel like I am standing here with nothing but a red nose and clown shoes on.
“So, Leila, can you sing something else? Something that can show us your range?”
Oh crap.
Crap…Crap…Crap!
As I look around the room, the guys are blatantly checking me out from head to toe. Deciding to change my strategy, I try to envision them all naked instead and this seems to work.
“Of course, what would you like me to sing?” I’m clearly stalling for time.
“What do you know?”
Ok that is easy…I have a song I can belt out with no problem. “Do you guys know Dream On by Aerosmith?”
Jack smirks, “Dream On? You can sing that song?” It’s obvious he doesn’t believe me.
“Yes…is that ok? It’s one of my favorite songs.” His doubt in me hits a nerve. I’m about to wipe the smirk off his face.
“Um, yeah, absolutely.” Jack shakes his head and adds, “Ok, let’s do it.” He grabs the mic stand with one hand, and glances back at Hunter to give him a signal. Hunter nods and hits his drum sticks together twice, leading the band right into the song. These guys are very much in tune to each other. I quickly take a few deep breaths trying to corral my nerves.
Closing my eyes, mainly to avoid eye contact with Mr. Sex God, but mostly to channel my talents, I sing my song choice like my life depends on it. Not far into the song, I morph from the dim-witted dork to the rock singer I am meant to be. This is my opportunity to nail it.
Feeling confident enough to open my eyes, I quickly scan the room for signs of disapproval. What I see instead is complete awe. I think I AM nailing it. I can tell by the faces in the control booth, except for the hot blonde, by watching Jack’s reflection in the glass, by the goose bumps that run all over my body. I feel that I am making quite an impression. I hold nothing back and let it all out.
Towards the end of the song Jack surprises me by joining in. His reflection once again watches me while showing his CCDS smile. From here on in that’s how I will refer to the Crotch Clench, Dimple Showing smile. I really wish he would look away because internally I am freaking out.
After what feels like hours later, Jack breaks our eye contact and turns to face his band still grinning like a fool.
“Dude that was so fucking outrageous! I’m hard from that song.” Words of wisdom from Hunter. The guys start laughing and my jaw drops.
Jack turns back to look at me and laughs when he sees the expression on my face. “That was most definitely a compliment Leila. Hunter’s right. It was very impressive. Actually, I’m blown away.” He turns towards his band. “Have you guys heard enough?”
They all agree and Jacks asks me to leave my contact info with Sally at the reception desk. “We will be in touch.” Smiling, he puts his hand out towards me. A tiny seed of optimism begins to cultivate as I shake Jack’s hand.
His touch sends a jolt right through every internal organ I have. His hand is warm and his grip is firm as his long fingers wrap around my entire hand. Shit…I never want him to let go.
One handshake has me yearning for more of his touch. How can a complete stranger have such an effect on me? The pull I feel towards this man doesn’t make sense. This is the most bizarre thing I have ever experienced in my life.
“Thanks for the opportunity.” I murmur quietly as Jack releases my hand. My body feels like it’s been doused with lighter fluid, and someone struck a match. Just as I turn to leave the room, my heel catches on an electrical wire and I stumble backwards.
He immediately reaches out and pulls me flush to his body with his strong grip, his eyes showing unmasked concern.
“Careful, are you ok?”
I can’t speak and instead barely nod while gnawing on my bottom lip. Our faces are inches apart and I have an overwhelming impulse to close the distance between our lips. The buzzing sensations that are coursing through my lower region continue and shoot straight up, accelerating my already pounding heart. My breath expels loudly in short pants.
I step back, but he is still gripping my arms. He leans in and whispers “Don’t sweat it. You did really great today.”
Managing a very weak smile, I pull away from his hold and thank him again before bolting out the door. I sprint down the hall and break right in front of Sally, the scary girl at the reception desk. She has midnight black hair with a single purple streak, a nose-ring and a tattoo on her exposed cleavage. She looks very bored as she reads a magazine and barely glances up at me.
“Hi, I’m Leila. I need to leave my contact info with you.” She wordlessly passes me a piece of paper and a pen that I use to scribble my name and cell phone number on. She then takes it from me with a look of complete disgust and resumes reading her magazine.
She is scary as hell.
I mutter a thank you and then sprint out the front door to make my way to my car. Once inside, I slam my head against the steering wheel and set off the horn. The hysterical part is that I am parked directly in front of the studio, and I can see Scary Sally watching me out the front door. Ha…Ha, right?
Could this get any worse?
As I drive my humiliated ass back to Hoboken, I try to analyze what the hell happened in that studio. I’m almost afraid to hope for this job. Let’s fast forward and assume I get hired…then what? Can I survive being in his presence daily, when I couldn’t make it through a twenty-minute audition?
What am I saying? Of course I want this job. Plus, I don’t even know this man. He probably is a complete jackass. As I try to convince myself that Jack is indeed a jackass, a tiny voice in the back of my demented brain says, “You’d better hope so.”
***
It’s now Friday, day three of waiting for “the phone call.” I’m sitting at my little table poking my phone, actually willing it to ring. We have another show tonight, and I’ve been sitting here for four, five, eight hours? I have no clue. Since Tuesday, I have completely lost track of time. I know I have to go on with my life or I can simply call them. But after my embarrassing behavior, I would rather stick needles in my eyes.
I’m running late again, so for the third night in a row I mechanically go through the motions of getting ready for our show. I feel like a zombie sucked my will to live and has turned me into a zombie. The audition and waiting for them to call me has me completely unhinged. I have never been so consumed by my thoughts as I have these last three days. My anxiety has festered into a constant pounding in my chest. I know I impressed them, but I guess my ridiculous conduct overrode my performance.
My phone is now sitting on the floor outside my shower. I keep moving back the curtain to stare at it, and still nothing.
Damn it.
I need to put my ass in gear. At least my beauty routine takes hardly any time at all. My hair is brown, long and wavy, and I usually dry it slightly and then let it finish drying naturally. I start on my makeup next, which takes two minutes since I only wear mascara and lipstick. My eyes are an ordinary golden brown in color, but I have thick black lashes that help them out a bit. Having typical Italian coloring, just like my dad, affords me to never have to wear foundation or blush. That’s a plus, because I hate the stuff.
I numbly start to look for an outfit to wear while still gripping my phone. Tonight I decide on a short skirt, high heels, and a funky top. I am five-six, but in heels my legs appear fairly long, and they become my best asset. This is my typical performance uniform. I call it a uniform because I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing it in my everyday life. The normal, everyday Leila dons a ponytail, jeans and sneakers.
I leave my apartment well after nine and head to my car. We perform every Wednesday through Saturday at The Zone. Sundays are reserved for private parties while Mondays and Tuesdays are our days off.
Since the audition, my nerves had me acting somewhat robotic during my performances. The good news is no one really noticed, except for my band. The bad news is tonight we will have a big crowd. We always do on Friday and Saturday nights. Needless to say, I really need to snap out of it.
The bar is only a few minutes away. We don’t start until ten and I usually like to get there early to chat with the girls. Alisa and Lori are two of the bartenders and my closest female friends. Since I am once again late though, I’ll have no time to chat.
When I pull into the lot, I can see the familiar pick-up truck that belongs to Matt Rizzo, our lead singer. The Jeep that Logan drives is not here yet. He’s our guitarist and Matt’s older brother. He usually picks up our drummer and bassist, Evan and Joseph.
Matt can’t be bothered chauffeuring anyone around. Logan always offers to pick me up as well, but I prefer to drive myself. I don’t drink while I’m working, and I like to high tail it out of there as soon as we are done.
This is our band singer, guitarist, bassist, drummer, and I as back-up. I also play keyboards when the song requires it. We call ourselves Cliffhangers. I personally think it’s a really dumb name.
We are pretty good. The Zone is jammed most weekends and we all like to believe its Cliffhangers that brings in the crowds. The pay is decent, and I can survive on it just fine most of the time. I am pretty low maintenance. The boys play at weddings and bar mitzvahs every so often on Sundays. I hate working private parties. I feel they are complete and utter torture. I’ll work them only if I need to supplement my salary from The Zone when I’m having a financially rough month. My dad always offers me money, but he works hard and I’d rather he spend it on himself. He doesn’t, of course. Except for his baseball games and his CD obsession of old rock bands, he saves every penny he makes.
My salary affords me to live in a nice apartment in Hoboken. It’s small but really cool, and I love it. It’s close to work, the city, and my dad’s house in Cliffside Park, the town where I grew up. Cliffside faces New York City and overlooks the Hudson River. That’s where I met the boys. Cliffhangers is a tribute to the streets we all lived on that overlook those cliffs. Like I said, it’s a dumb name.
Most of my expenses are just the rent and utilities. I drive an old Honda that’s in good condition and gets me where I need to go. My wardrobe is Jersey Mall. Even my food bills are minimal because I tend to mooch a lot of meals off dad.
Dad did a great job raising me. My mom Marie died in a car accident when I was ten, and I miss her every day. We had a normal, happy family life. Mom worked hard as a nurse yet always found time for my extracurricular activities. She never missed a recital or spring pageant. Mom was my biggest fan. She said I had the voice of an angel. It pains me today that she is not here with me, but I know she is in spirit. I like to think she was the guardian angel who sent Patti into the bar last weekend. I wear her wedding band every day to feel connected to her even after all these years.
I look a lot like her, but my personality is strictly Anthony Marino’s or dads. Quiet, shy, cautious, and naturally a skeptic. Mom was more a free spirit and impulsive. Going for that audition on Tuesday was the craziest thing I have ever done.
Anthony is the best dad a girl can ask for. He works for a newspaper in the city. He’s been there more than twenty years. I feel as if he never took a risk because of me. He probably doesn’t love his job, but it’s stable. Being a huge Yankee fan, this job affords him a chance to see a game every few weeks during baseball season, pay the mortgage, and to live comfortably.
Dad was a hottie years ago. Still an attractive man at fifty, he has aged a bit since mom died. I’m always looking for a nice woman to set him up with, someone to care for him and love him. He deserves it. Dad says if it happens then it happens. But he is content and already had the love of his life. He doubts there is another waiting for him. The hopeless romantic gene I definitely inherited from him.
As I make my way through the parking lot, Ace, our trusty bouncer, sits on his usual perch. I love Ace. He is a security guard during the week, but moonlights as Sal’s bouncer on Friday and Saturday nights. He is saving up to start his own security business.
Ace is as intimidating as they come, but deep inside he is a softie. He has a sweet wife named Cindy, a little girl who adores him and a boy on the way. The day Ace found out, he was already handing out cigars. Seeing him with his family makes it hard to see him as a brute that could bash someone’s face in. Thank god I never witnessed Ace in action, but I’ve heard plenty of stories.
Ace looks up as I walk towards him. “Here she is. How are you doin’ gorgeous?”
“Hi Ace. I’m ok, trying to keep myself sane.” I give him a brief hug before apologizing to my friend that I’m running late and can’t stay to chat.
He shakes his head and laughs at me. He knows my story and is just another one of my friends who feels I have nothing to worry about. I really wish I felt the same. I did so many things wrong during that audition. I’m sure I’ll be the butt of jokes at Devil’s Lair parties for years.
The Zone is my home away from home. Sal the owner is my dad’s best friend and has known me for most of my life. I spent a lot of time in this bar, even before I sang here. Dad played a huge part in convincing Sal to hire us and add entertainment. At first Sal scoffed at the idea but then jumped full steam ahead once it grew on him. He built a stage and added the proper acoustics. It was a good idea, and business has boomed ever since. This meant less weddings and bar mitzvahs, thank God.
There is already a decent crowd filling The Zone. My buddies Alisa and Lori wave from the bar. They are a team and always work the same shifts. Once Sal added the entertainment, he went all out with the advertising. Alisa and Lori are pretty girls with perky breasts. They show off the bold white typeface “THE ZONE” nicely on their black t-shirts. Well-placed advertising is Sal’s forte. Along with the t-shirts that the staff wears, mostly by busty cutie pies, he has placed “THE ZONE” flyers on every inch of northern Jersey.
The Zone was a dive. Now it’s a dive with rocking entertainment. Those are Matt’s words, not mine. Speaking of Matt, the self-proclaimed “god’s gift to women” is sitting at a booth flirting with Kelly, one of the waitresses.
At the bar, Alisa is busy filling a pitcher with beer. Alisa is a brunette with big brown eyes, a pretty smile and really nice boobs. She is shorter than me and prefers her converse sneakers to wearing heels. Lori is mixing a fancy looking cocktail while watching Matt. Lori is a stunning redhead with emerald green eyes, freckles on her nose and even nicer boobs than Alisa. Even though Lori is tall, she has absolutely no problem wearing heels. When she and Alisa work the bar, Lori towers over Alisa.
As I approach, they both immediately start chatting at the same time. Alisa is rambling about the best time she had with her boyfriend Logan the previous night. They make a perfect couple. Logan is nuts about her.
Lori is sulking about Matt not giving her the time of day. She wants him to be her boyfriend desperately and really can’t take a hint. I wish she would move on because he simply is not worth it. I have firsthand experience in that subject.
The girls and I met freshman year of high school and we have become the best of friends. Alisa did not go to college. She hated everything about school and wanted no part of continuing. Instead she started to work for Sal as a waitress and quickly realized that this was also something she despised. She decided to take a bartending course and effectively found her calling.
Lori, on the other hand, went to college and graduated with a business degree. She says The Zone is just a stop on the way to the perfect job. She won’t settle and doesn’t care how long it takes. We all know Lori doesn’t have a clue what that perfect job is. Alisa convinced Lori to take the same bartending course, as it wouldn’t hurt her to make decent tips while waiting for her dream job to appear. So here they are, and so far it’s worked out for both of them, as well as for Sal.
Listening to them both as they speak tandem, I am barely able to interrupt long enough to excuse myself.
“Girls, I gotta go.” These are the first words I’ve uttered during our ten-minute conversation. Neither of them seemed to notice. They are a bit self-involved, but if I needed them for any reason, they would be there for me in a heartbeat. They ignore my stress levels because they both feel I’m being absurd and that I most definitely got the job. Everyone I know seems to think that but me.
Listlessly, I head to the back room with my purse and jacket. Sal keeps a table and chairs back there for our breaks. Some lockers line the back wall. The rest of the room serves as an overstocked storage closet.
With my phone firmly wedged in the back pocket of my skirt, I pull it out to curse at it. “Fucking ring already!”
“Have you taken your meds today Leila?” Matt says while walking into the room.
“Shut up Matt, I’m not in the mood.” I say, frowning into my uncooperative piece of shit phone. He smirks at me without sympathy. He can be such a jackass.
“Yeah, shut up Matt.” Joseph our drummer walks into the room and immediately pulls me into a big hug. “They will call Lei. Stop stressing…I know they will.”
“You’re making her head even bigger than it is.” Matt retorts. While watching us, he sits at the table. The man with a Thanksgiving Day Parade balloon as a head has the nerve to say I’m big headed. That’s actually funny. Rolling my eyes at him, I turn back to Joseph.
“Put it out there Lei and it will happen.” Joe kisses my temple and throws Matt a look before walking out the door.
Joseph Torrone is the teddy bear in our group and a total sweetheart. You wouldn’t know that by just looking at him. He is kind of scary with his buzzed crew cut, tattoos and dark brown eyes. Shoulder to shoulder he’s built like a linebacker. You’d probably be afraid to bring him home to meet your mom and dad. But then once your mom got to know him, she would be hoping he proposed to you by desert… not so much your dad.
Our lead singer Matt and I have history. We dated in high school until I realized he was a jerk. All Matt Rizzo wanted was sex. He was my first, and I thought I loved him. Since he didn’t have a job, he would make excuses that we could only afford to hang out in his basement and have sex. That got real old for me and after nine months, I dumped him. But the attraction continued to be there between us. He is gorgeous and cocky as all hell. We reconnected again a few years later. The second time we were together was shorter than the first. Six months later, I dumped him again, after realizing he was now an even bigger jerk and also a dick. The second time around all Matt Rizzo wanted was sex from me, as well as from others.
Truth be told, he hurt me. So now we are just friends…I guess. I say the term loosely though, because there is a definite attitude he has towards me. He teases me a lot and sometimes it’s bordering on being mean. Evan thinks it’s because he hasn’t gotten over me yet. I find that ridiculous as it’s been years since we were together. Besides, he is the one who cheated on me and broke my heart.
Matt needs to have his heart broken just once. Maybe this will help him become less of a jerk. I would buy tickets to see it happen. Hell, I’d even bring the popcorn.
When he bothers me, Logan, Joseph, and Evan always jump to my defense. We all tolerate Matt because he has a great voice. He can belt out a rock scream like no one I’ve ever met before. That and his looks give us plenty of female fans. We do have a nice clump of male fans that show up every week just to see me. Some have tried to get my number, or even put their moves on me. I am not interested at this point in my life. As horny as I am, I’d rather be single and successful, than attached and miserable. Relationships and I don’t get along very well.
I’ve only been with two guys. My second boyfriend was perfect or so I thought. Good looking, good job, good family. I loved him and was a bit blind to his extremely over-bearing, controlling, cave man ways. Having come to see our show one night, he made a scene because of the outfit I was wearing. Long story short, he was the second jewel in my pathetic relationship crown…and both jewels were cubic zirconium at best. I often wonder why I’m not lucky in relationships. It seems easy. I watch Logan and Alisa, and hope for that in my life one day. They have such mutual respect for each other and are so crazy about one another. They are best friends. Alisa is a lucky girl to have Logan.
Logan, our guitarist, is also sort of the manager of our little group. He is the oldest and tries to keep his brother Matt and the rest of us in line. They may be brothers and share the same height, shade of brown hair, and smile, but that’s where the similarities end.
Matt has beautiful hazel eyes. Logan has warm brown eyes. Matt is a jerk, dick, and a heart breaker while Logan is sensitive and kind. How the same woman gave birth to these two is beyond me.
There is just something about Matt that is irresistible. I fell for his charms twice, and I’m trying to protect Lori from the Matt Rizzo experience. She has been dying to hook up with him since I dumped him the second time, only after she made sure I was ok with it. She knows our story. I’ve tried to tell her he isn’t worth it, but she won’t listen. She feels she can rehabilitate the dick-ness right out of him.
It doesn’t really matter because Matt is just not interested. Not because Lori isn’t hot. She is very pretty and has a great body. Evan claims Matt was done dating girls who are also friends. I felt that was good news for her.
Evan Miller, our bass player, is also my best friend. He is absolutely adorable with the nicest green eyes and shaggy, golden brown hair. More importantly, he is quiet and sweet and has a heart of pure gold. As a bass player, he is phenomenal. Cliffhangers is lucky to have him. Don’t get me wrong, all the guys are talented. But there is just something about Evan.
I love him dearly but not in a romantic kind of way. He’s the brother I never had. I also feel dad thinks of him as the son he’s never had. He spends a lot of time with us, especially since his parents got divorced. He is an only child, too, and he has a lot in common with my Dad.
Evan is one year older than I am. We lived a block away from each other in Cliffside, but hadn’t met until my first day of sixth grade in public middle school. Until then I had only attended a catholic grammar school, and felt like a fish out of water. Having recently lost my mom, I was very quiet and introverted. I noticed him in the cafeteria and thought he reminded me of someone. Unconsciously, I stared at him from across the room while eating my lunch. He noticed and came over to sit down at my table.
I should have been embarrassed, but I wasn’t. The minute I looked into his eyes, I knew we were going to be good friends. Since that day he took me under his wing, and the rest is history. Evan’s had a few fights for me, broken up with a few girls because of me, and is my biggest fan.
He bursts through the door just as Matt and I are about to walk back out to the bar.
“Matt, give us a minute, please.”
“Sure, Evan, anything for you.” He replies while batting his eyelashes and then turns to walk out the door.
Rolling his eyes, Evan comments, “He can be such a prick.” I can’t help but laugh. The word “prick” coming out of Evan’s mouth is just wrong.
Taking my hand Evan asks, “Lei, what number did you give Devil’s Lair to call you on?”
“Um, my cell…why?”
“Well, they have a wrong number for you and have been trying to call you all day.”
Oh, hell no…
“What did you say? Are you freaking kidding me?” It is probably that damn scary receptionist, Sally! I tell him as much.
“She probably changed my number on purpose. She looked at me like I was a bug.”
“Well fuck her. Jack Lair just called Sal. Patti gave him the bar’s name and he needs you to call him ASAP.” Evan passes me a bar napkin with a phone number scrawled on it.
“OH MY GOD!” I squeeze Evan’s hand so tightly that he winces.
“Go out to your car and call him now.”
“Wait, what about the set?”
“Just go. We will wait Lei.” He kisses me on my forehead and shoves me out the door. As I run to my car I dial the New York number. I force myself to breathe normally and to stop panting like a phone sex operator.
“Hello?” Hot male voice, most definitely Jack.
“Um, hi, this is Leila… Leila Marino. I was told to call this number.”
“Well hello Miss Marino.” He croons through the phone in a voice so sexy I feel a quiver down below. “This is Jack Lair. I’ve been trying to reach you to discuss your future with Devils Lair, if you’re interested.”
“Wait…what!?”
He chuckles and repeats himself, and I go completely silent until he clears his throat.
“Oh, um, yes. I am absolutely interested!” Going from one extreme to the next, I am now practically screaming into the phone. He chuckles again, and it is almost like I could actually feel his breath in my ear. The quiver becomes a clenching.
So now I am apparently clenching from the sound of his voice too?
“Can you come to the studio at eleven am on Monday?” he asks.
“Yes. No problem.”
“Great…and Leila? Try not to break any limbs before you get there.”
I blush into the phone and squeeze out in a tiny voice, “I’ll try.”
He chuckles and hangs up leaving me with a vivid fantasy...sheets, legs, arms, all tangled together, and Jack chuckling into my ear. Unable to move, I sit in my car for a full twenty minutes. It’s a good thing I got this job, because I may lose my current one for being twenty minutes late.
Devils Lair…damn! Thank you universe!
Since I’m already late, I might as well call my dad.
“What’s wrong? Aren’t you supposed to be on stage?” No hello, no greeting, this is so typical of dad.
“Hey, dad. Nothing’s wrong. I just wanted to tell you that they called me back.” There is a two second delay. Most wouldn’t even notice it, but I do.
“That’s great Lei. I’m so happy for you.”
But?
I was waiting for the but and say as much over the phone.
“No but. I truly am happy for you. I just worry about you, you know that.”
“I know dad. I have to go. I just wanted to let you know.” We decide to talk more at Sunday brunch. That’s when and where I would hear the “But” I was sure.
Devils’ Lair…this is crazy!